Page 71 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
Evan cleared his throat, pulling Damian from his increasingly lewd thoughts. “There’s also the ball next week. Montrose will be there. I wonder if we can make our move there.”
Gwendoline smiled. “It’s possible.”
Damian raised an eyebrow at his wife, wondering what was going on in that head of hers. She was full of surprises, which he liked. But surprises during their quest to catch Montrose in the act could be deadly.
“What are you exactly planning, Gwendoline?” His tone held a warning that he hoped she could hear.
She exhaled and shrugged, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “You know that I can always distract Timothy.”
Damian didn’t like the sound of that, but he couldn’t express it the way he felt it. “Be careful,” he said instead. “You should never underestimate him.”
“Neither should he underestimate me,” Gwendoline replied, her eyes flashing even though she tried to keep a light tone.
Damian understood that it was her own warning. She wasn’t pleased.
“Her Grace can handle Montrose. She had lived with him for years, Your Grace,” Evan pointed out.
For a moment, he was back to his cheerful self, although Damian had started to see cracks in him. He cared about Levi and Mary, too. He wanted justice for them.
“We’ll just have to stay close to each other,” Damian insisted.
The other two nodded meekly, but somehow he suspected that they were willing to put their lives in danger. They wanted to catch Montrose as soon as possible.
He did, too. There was a time when he would have been more insistent on hunting for Montrose faster, but he had become more cautious the more he got to know Gwendoline.
As soon as Evan left the room, Gwendoline rose to her feet. Then, she quickly stepped behind Damian and wrapped her arms around his waist. He leaned back lightly, feeling the connection between them. It was so natural. He didn’t have to think about what to do when it came to her.
“You worry too much, my love,” she whispered. Then, she paused as if her own words startled her. The following two words were huskier, almost as if she was choking on them. “Trust me.”
I do.
However, Damian didn’t say the words out loud. Instead, he held the hands on his stomach and threaded his fingers through hers.
Entwined.
It was beautiful and terrifying.
The days and nights blurred together. The two took advantage of every moment, stealing time to be together in various parts of Greyvale while savoring kisses and more in the bedchamber.
In the garden, Damian pressed her against a stone wall and kissed her until she saw stars—and almost forgot her own name. In the study, they christened his desk. He would say that she started the dance by massaging his shoulders. They debated over the safety of their next move and whether they needed more men.
“Would you like to relieve the tension elsewhere,” would end their brainstorming session, and they’d be lost in each other again.
At night, there was nothing that could quench their desire for each other. Gwendoline had never thought that she would be insatiable when it came to the art of making love and that she would hunger for him and know each part of his body and how it reacted to each touch and lick.
It should be the best days and nights of their lives. But they’d often stop—out of duty, out of guilt. Timothy’s shadow continued to loom over them. Every kiss and touch came with knowing that they could not fail. It wasn’t an option. They had a mission.
Gwendoline often made light of the situation with her quick plans and cheerful disposition, but deep inside, she knew why Damian was worried.
She would never return to Montrose House. No. She felt alive and free in Greyvale. Her marriage might be unconventional, born out of revenge, and with a man who often ran cold, but it was the only thing she wanted right now.
Damian made her happy. However, she understood the possibility of their current blissful state ending even if he wouldn’t consider divorce. He would never ruin her, but he could simply abandon her.
One evening, after another run-through of their final plan in the study, Gwendoline could not help but ask. Her temples had been throbbing the whole day, and her palms were cold.
It must be the chill in the air.
“What happens then?”
